


Stack Of Cards

by shtrash



Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender, vld - Fandom
Genre: College AU, Cuban Lance, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, all weavers are aro ace btw, artist lance, college dropout keith, hunk and lance are best bros, hunk and pidge like robots, hunk gives everyone weird nicknames, i lied again both of them are too dense to know who's denser, i lied lance is denser, im gonna cry writing this, its 12 am why am i publishing this now, keith and pidge watch conspiracy theories, keith can skate, keith goes back to college dont worry, keith hates pepsi and loves coke so lance says he loves pepsi just to piss him off, keith is denser, keith likes soda, lance cant skate and is forever salty, lance is dense, lance is from arizona, no pidge doesn't have a weave i'll explain in the fic, no smut i'm innocent u sinners, pidge doesn't get enough sleep, pidge is a weaver, pidge is aromantic and asexual, pidge is the ultimate shipper, pidge uses they x them, platonic hunk x lance, rolo x nyma is a thing in this fic, sorry that was rude ur not shits im sure ur lovely people, this just makes me gayer, this was a bitch to write i hope you enjoy you shits, writing major keith, yes i repeat soulmate au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:04:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9364625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shtrash/pseuds/shtrash
Summary: “First off, Keith ‘I’m So Emo’ Kogane and I can agree on one thing and one thing only: Soulmates are stupid. Second off, Keith, you wanna bet? You think you of all people can get a stable relationship by the end of the year?” Lance snorted. “It’d be a much safer bet if I, Lance McClain, Relationship Extraordinaire and Total Hottie, volunteered to find a hot babe I could later marry.”“You wanna bet, ‘Needle Boy’ McClain?”“Sure do. $100 right here, right now.”Pidge spoke up from the couch, mischievous smile on their face. “And if both of you fail to win, I get $100 from both of you. Deal?”Needle Boy and Brooding Emo replied in unison. “Deal.”





	

It all started out with a dare. 

Lance McClain and Keith Kogane were, if anything, used to dares. Ever since they’d met, it'd been bet after bet; most of these bets were initiated by Lance. Most of them were won, unsurprisingly, by Keith. Undeterred, Lance would place another bet. Laughter in his eyes, smirk on his face, Keith would win.

This bet was a bet like any other—Lance challenged Skater Boy to a dare, provoked by something he claimed to be able to do, and Skater Boy would look at Lanky Legs and say, "Try me." Skater Boy usually won and Lance would claim that he cheated; there was no way that anyone but The Greatest could defeat Mr. McClain, The Self-Proclaimed Best, and Keith Kogane was anything but The Greatest.

This bet was a bet like any other, but its consequence was greater. Love.

This bet was a bet like any other, but it was in a game neither Lance nor Keith were practiced in. Love.

This bet was like any other, but instead of being negotiated by an irked Lance and provoked by a smug Keith, card-dealer Pidge Holt did both the provoking and the negotiating and started the game. Lance and Keith were just two players lost in a stack of cards.

* * *

Keith was never one for Christmas parties. When his sister-in-law, Allura, insisted that he attend the upcoming party over the phone for the third time in three hours, he begrudgingly donned the ugliest red sweater he could find and left his house to face the brisk winter air. God, did he hate the cold. You could stick this guy in an inferno and he’d be fine—his roommate at Lion Bay College, Pidge, theorized that it was because he was secretly a reptile wearing a human skin—but if you even so much as mentioned snowflakes he’d start shivering.

As it was Christmastime in northern New York state, there were snowflakes all around. Keith glared at them as they fell, a scowl on his face. It was too cold to admire the way the city lights made the snow glow. Besides, most of it had been trampled to mush underfoot as pedestrians hurried towards their destinations, whether they be homely cafes offering to give their cold-nipped noses relief, cluttered apartments strewn with abandoned college homework, or, like in Keith’s case, parties that praised some old fat guy who broke into your house to leave you presents. That shit was kind of satanic to Keith; who the fuck would say “Ho ho ho!” as he slid down your chimney? Who the fuck would slide down your chimney in the first place? If your chimney was as filthy as that of the Shirogane household and you slid down it then you’d smell like burnt hopes and dreams for weeks. Christmas lore was nearly as stupid as this Christmas party. Lance McClain, the college busybody, was going to be there. Shiro’s explanation had been, “Both Pidge and Hunk are friends with Lance. Why can’t you be his friend?”

“There’s a huge reason Lance can’t be my friend,” Keith grumbled to himself as he hurried along the white-coated, mushy, shoe-soaking, feet-chilling, hand-numbing, ice-hazardous streets. Lanky Legs’ smile set him on edge and his obnoxious laugh was like a hyena’s. He bragged about how he was a straight-C student in his core classes and Keith didn’t even know what major he took. How could a slacker get into such a prestigious school? If he didn’t wear cargo pants and the same stupid jacket from Walmart every single day then Keith would have figured he was rich. After all, his skin glowed like a celebrity’s and he had a stupid fuckboy-fuckup haircut that he probably just rolled out of bed with.

If one thing could melt away the cold, it was thinking about how much he hated Lance McClain. Thinking about his stupid smile and how he couldn’t skate because he was too lanky and tall sped up the long, arduous, mind-and-body-numbing journey to Shiro’s house. Soon, he stood in front of the elegant wooden door, snow dusting his hat. He took the chilly brass knocker in his gloved hands—still fingerless— and knocked three times. While he waited for the door to open, he looked around at the house. Shiro had inherited it from his father and he’d lived there with his brother since he had been adopted. The yard, blanketed in snow, reminded him of all the snowball fights he’d been in. Somehow, the cold was less cold when you were fighting with someone you loved; never once while snowball fighting had his fingers felt numb.

Warm yellow light poured from the windows of the house and he could hear laughter inside—of course he would be the last one to be there, other than maybe Lance. That guy showed up to everything unfashionably late.

 

When the door opened, a grinning Allura decked out in elven Christmas attire pulled him into a hug and then threw him inside. He wasn’t surprised by her strength and ability to do so; she was the head of the local police force. Shiro had been an English teacher until he quit his job on a whim and decided to become a police officer. On the job, he had met Allura; he said he could hear her sweet voice in his head and her thoughts reassuring him after a long day at work. They claimed that they could work so well as a team because to this day they continued to hear each other in their heads and feel them in their hearts. They knew what the other needed and when; if Allura had to shoot, then she would shoot. If Shiro had to roundhouse kick some bad guy in the face because Allura urged him to, he would. Keith thought that was just bullshit to scare him about falling in love. Either that or both of them were some weird kind of loony. Soulmates were stupid and would always be stupid—it just went against science for them to exist. He shook his head, dismissing the thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to ramble to himself as if he had an audience to bore; he was here to party, and party he would.

He’d start by sitting moodily in the corner. Lance, Pidge, Hunk, Shiro, Allura, and Allura’s uncle, Coran, were all there. It must be an awkward situation for Pidge and Hunk: both of them were taking a year-long engineering class with Coran as their professor. Instead of being shy, they fistbumped Coran and laughed over their eggnog. “Dude,” he could hear hear Hunk’s booming voice say from the center of the room, “You’re like sixty, Coran. How do you slay literally everyone’s life in that sweater? Did you knit it yourself? It really compliments your hair color, you know. That angry Santa is the bone to my app the teeth. That middle finger is so detailed and wrinkly—I’m wowed. I’m paralyzed by its beauty. Whoever made this has raw talent, Coran. Raw talent.”

Coran’s response make him laugh—he couldn’t help himself. “I made the Santa face you see here, Hunk,” he said, gesturing to the pissed off, strained Santa face. “And Lance, bless his soul,” he laughed, nudging Lance with his shoulder, “Finished it for me. He’s really talented at both sewing and knitting. Didn’t you say that you were part of the costume department at your school?” After Lance gave a flattered yes, Keith got up from the couch he was moping on and jabbed, “So Needle Boy can actually thread a needle? Surprising, considering he can’t do anything else but make jokes and flirt with cute girls.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Keith. At least I know how to interact with my buds. According to Hunkyboo, I have ‘raw talent.’”

While Hunk responded with, “Don’t get too full of yourself, Lanceypants,” Allura, her ears attuned to finding swear words, called, “Now, now, you heathens. This is a Christmas party, not some teenage rave. Watch your language or come here to play some fucking board games, golly geez. You’re yuletide maniacs and children, not hooligans.”

 

After crowding around Allura and the kitchen table counter, snatching a few gingerbread men, and claiming their pieces, Allura, Shiro, Coran and the sleep-deprived college kids began playing board games until the streetlights went out and the cookies were gone. When everyone was tired of Keith and Shiro swearing at each other, neck and neck in a battle of Monopoly, exasperated with Lance swearing in heated Spanish at his continuous Connect Four fumbles, and annoyed at Pidge’s and Keith’s debates about who would be the most likely to survive an alien apocalypse, everyone gathered around the homely living room, cups of hot cocoa in hand, and began to reflect on all Christmases past. This, Keith thought, is what a family should be. It was good to be home. Even if he had to suffer through Lance McClain’s eyes staring him down or deal with him arguing against his and Pidge’s late-night theory summaries, it was good to be home.

Allura seemed to be thinking along the same lines. From under her husband’s arm, she said, her eyes atwinkle. “Hey, Shiro, remember our first Christmas together? You were basically falling over yourself trying to help me make cookies. God, you can’t bake to save your life.”

That Christmas party had been much smaller; it was just Keith, Shiro, Allura, and Coran. Keith hadn’t been able to afford a hotel room at the time and he didn’t want to spend 50 minutes a day making the commute to and then from his brother’s house. While there was a guest bedroom, Coran had taken it because of “senior privilege.” Senior privilege his ass; Coran was more fit than he would ever be. For the entirety of Christmas break, Keith was forced to sleep in the living room with a curtain over the door and a table dragged into it to make up for the lack of a desk. Christmas was spent around the kitchen counter that year.

“Of course I remember my first Christmas with my soulmate,” Shiro replied, gently kissing the top of her head. “Without you there, it wouldn’t have been complete.”

“It wasn’t complete either way,” Lance chimed in, “I, Lance McClain, Family Lover and the Latest Addition to Your Family, wasn’t there. Since my parents are all the way in Arizona and I’m a broke college student, you’re gonna have to accept me as one of your own, Shiro. Either that or Hunkypants is going to have to finally let me meet this girlfriend of his and follow him around like a stray puppy. I need somebody to shadow during break, Shiro.”

Keith was ready to open his mouth to let out a firm no when he remembered Shiro’s fond term for Allura: “soulmate.”

“Why won’t you give this soulmate act up already, Shiro? I’m not afraid of love anymore, so it’s not like you’re doing anything. Soulmates are so unbelievably stupid, dude. You guys aren’t psychics. If anything, you’re all psycho for believing that crap. I’m a slut for theories, but theories about love? So boring. So cliché. So incredibly fake.”

“Keith, I’m not joking around anymore—” Shiro started. Before he could continue his lecture, Pidge, who had been uncharacteristically silent after Keith’s ramble, cut him off. “Let me explain,” they snorted.

“Keith, Lance, you don’t have to believe me on this. You can consider it as real as the fact that the moon landing was faked, and yes, Lance, the moon landing was faked, or you can dismiss it like people dismiss the Ancient Aliens guy. Believe it or not, Hunk and Shiro have found their soulmates. Coran hasn’t spilled the beans on whether or not he’s ever met some beauty but he doesn’t need to. All across the world there have been anecdotes about how people have found their true loves through special powers like seeing them before they meet or feeling their embrace or noticing their thoughts in their head. You may think it’s silly, but take it like this. Lance, can I borrow your deck of cards?”

While Lance handed the worn deck of cards he always kept in his pocket to Pidge, they continued, sorting through the cards. “Say you have a joker and an ace,” they explained, holding up the two after marking them, much to Lance’s dismay, with identical sharpie-d hearts. “You’ve got a magician or a card dealer who always knows where their cards are. That’s a weaver; they control the deck and can nudge two cards together. Say I’m a weaver and I’ve chosen those two, the joker and ace, to be soulmates. Before I weaved them, they could have had designated matches, like, perhaps, the joker matched with a king or the ace and a five were meant to be. If they would have been a bad match, a weaver can change them. It’s like being the ultimate shipper but with sense. Soulmates are nowhere near perfect. They can end up sour, which isn’t good for anyone in that relationship.

“The joker and the ace,” Pidge continued, shuffling the two cards back into the deck, “Have been chosen as soulmates. Until they meet each other, they won’t know who their soulmate is. They could meet the king or the five, but they’d never feel symptoms that soulmates feel because that tie was prevented when the weaver nudged their ‘strings’ in separate directions. The symptoms are different for every couple and don’t always last forever; they reflect what the couple need as people. Allura and Shiro have a relationship where mental presence is valued. On the job, they need to know where they are at all times. If they know what the other person needs, they can easily and effectively send each other help while remaining perfectly silent. When one is having a bad day, the other can send them a reassuring thought; if Shiro were having a breakdown, Allura could clear the clouds in his head and remind him that she’s there. He can do the same for her. Shay and Hunk need a physical and sight-related relationship so that they know the other person is safe. Shay isn’t fiction. Neither is Hunk. Sometimes, a look or a touch can help reassure them of that no matter how far apart they are.”

Pidge had continued to shuffle the deck throughout that lecture. “The soulmates will eventually meet, no matter how late in life, and once they do, they start to feel the symptoms. They can ignore the fact that they’re soulmates for however long they’d like, but the symptoms won’t stop until they do. Like in Shiro and Allura’s case, they might never stop. These symptoms can also change over time.”

At random, they pulled out two cards. Both, Keith and Lance could see, had heart-shaped marks on them; they were the joker and the ace.

Pidge Holt was a card dealer, and the two non-believers were cards in their stack. Lance McClain and Keith Kogane, joker and ace, had just been dealt.

**Author's Note:**

> hey i'm fiona (@dirtboyyy or @majesticsagie on twitter) and i haven't updated this in months but i might make another few chapters when i'm bored  
> feel free to leave comments or criticism, anything's appreciated!!


End file.
